


Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper

by Jobabe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1336204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jobabe/pseuds/Jobabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU for that infamous Christmas party scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas Apologies

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say that i really love writing this OT3 but will never write post season 3 stories because I like Mary Watson a lot and would never disrespect her character by killing her off or turning her into a cheater just so my OT3 can be together.

The party was, to put it bluntly, turning into a complete disaster. First John had blundered things so badly with his date Jeanette that she'd left in a huff, snapping at him not to bother calling her ever again. Well, he deserved that; how could he have gotten her mixed up with one of the many, many ( _many_ ) other women he'd dated since returning to London?

Then there was Sherlock's moaning mobile. Irene Adler was texting him to the point of distraction, and all John wanted to do was hurl the stupid phone out the window. He didn't trust that woman as far as he could throw her, and he wished Sherlock wasn't so intrigued by her. Why he wished that was something he refused to delve into, past the surface 'she's up to no good' reaction. Although it was nice to see that Sherlock actually could show signs of being sexually interested in another person, it was too bad _she_ was that person, when there were other, far more deserving, recipients of his flatmate's dubious attentions.

 _Like me_ , part of his mind whispered, which he swiftly tamped down on. Nope, not going there. John Hamish Watson wasn't gay and never had been. No, he'd actually been thinking about the lovely young woman currently staring at Sherlock with a stricken expression on her face while said areshole finally shut his mouth as he read the name on the present he'd just been deriding. It didn't take a deductive genius to realize that the gift wasn't for some new boyfriend Molly was meeting up with after their little get-together was over, but for Sherlock.

They were all frozen in place – himself, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade – all just as stunned by Sherlock's nasty words...and by the honestly confused look on his face as he realized his mistake and fell silent. When Molly finally spoke, John couldn't help but admire her courage as she said, “You always say such horrible things. Every time, always. Always.”

“I am sorry. Forgive me.” John stared at Sherlock, stunned; had the man just apologized? Yes, yes he had, and as John continued to stare incredulously, his flatmate stepped forward, kissed Molly on the cheek and murmured, “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.”

She gaped up at Sherlock, her shock mirroring that of everyone else in the room. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but then her eyes filled with tears and she rushed into the bathroom. Even though she closed the door softly behind her, she may as well have slammed it.

Mrs. Hudson gave a soft sigh and shook her head as she approached Sherlock, who was staring after Molly's departed form with a confused and somewhat lost expression on his face. “Oh, Sherlock, you'd best go and apologize to that poor girl again,” she said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Your social skills haven't gotten any better.” Then she walked over to John and pressed a kiss on his cheek as well, which he returned. “Good night, boys. Do try to make things right for her, won't you?”

The look she cast on John included him in that request – no, more of an order, he thought with no small sense of bemusement. In spite of the fact that he'd invited a date to this little shambles of a get-together, Mrs. Hudson still seemed to believe that he and Sherlock were a couple, when John had tried over and over again to prove to her – to everyone – that he had no romantic feelings toward his friend and flatmate.

A sort of cold flash followed by a flush of heat went over him as he finally admitted that perhaps the reason people believed it...was because John was protesting a bit too strenuously. Dating women he didn't really care about and couldn't keep straight in his own mind – witness the way Jeanette had stormed out of the party earlier – in order to 'prove' he wasn't gay.

Which, of course, he wasn't. Never had been. Never even kissed another bloke or wanted to.

Only Sherlock.

Christ. He was losing his fucking mind, no doubt about it. All the drama and Sherlock being a right prick to Molly was setting his head to spinning in weird, unexpected directions. Besides, he wasn't the one in distress, in spite of his break-up tonight; Molly was the one who needed comforting. When it was clear that Sherlock wasn't going to go after her, John heaved a sigh, murmured an apology to Greg (who had put down his glass and was grabbing his coat and mumbling something along the lines of “oh, look at the time”), and went down the short hall to knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey, Molly? It's John. You all right?”

Stupid question; he didn't need Sherlock to point that out to him. The sound of a feminine groan of desire from somewhere behind him told John that Irene Adler was texting his flatmate again. And the git was no doubt going to head to his room so he could text her back in privacy. It wasn't jealousy that set John's teeth on edge, he hastened to reassure himself. And if it was, it was for Molly's sake. The poor girl had put her heart out there, giving Sherlock that lovingly wrapped gift – and the equally lovingly wrapped gift of herself, in that amazing dress. It was too bad she felt the need to hide her figure most of the time in those shapeless, bulky trousers and jumpers she habitually wore; no matter what cruel things Sherlock said about her needing to 'compensate' Molly had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

Maybe, John decided as he heard the latch turning and stepped back a bit to give her room if she was going to come out and talk to him, she needed to hear that from someone. Sherlock would be best of course, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing it from John Watson, was there?

Especially since it would be nothing but the truth.

The door opened while he was busy woolgathering, and it took him a second to realize that Molly was no longer wearing her cocktail dress, that all she was wearing was a lacy black bra and matching knickers, a pair of black thigh-highs and the black heels that added an extra two or three inches to her petite height.

John gaped at her, eyes roaming her body before his mind finally caught up to his libido and shouted at him “Her eyes are up HERE”, at which point his gaze flew up to meet hers. He swallowed, hard, felt himself flushing red in a mixture of embarrassment and lust (she really did have a lovely figure and just because her breasts weren’t double D’s didn’t make them any less mouthwatering). “Uh, s-sorry,” he stuttered out, taking a step backwards and raising his hands in a surrendering gesture. “I didn’t realize you were, uh…what are you doing, exactly? If you don’t mind my asking,” he added in a rush.

She’d wiped the red lipstick off, he noted as she continued to look at him as if making up her mind whether or not to answer his question. And she made no moves to cover herself, wasn’t flushing with embarrassment or trembling or showing any signs whatsoever of self-consciousness.

Frankly, John found it sexy as hell. An image flashed through his mind: Molly, clad exactly as she was right now, kneeling between his legs with her mouth on his cock while Sherlock snogged the hell out of him at the same time…

Bloody. _Hell_. He’d successfully managed to keep such thoughts and images out of his mind the entire time he’d been Sherlock’s flatmate; why were they suddenly taking over? 

“You love him too.” Molly’s softly spoken words brought him back to the present with a vengeance. 

John stared at her tear-streaked face, knowing his expression said ‘Caught’. Dumbstruck, all he could do was nod in acknowledgement of the truth of her words. She sighed and continued to stare up at him. “It hurts, being in love with him,” she said softly, taking a single step forward and laying a hand on his chest. “So why do we do it?”

John swallowed, shook his head, swallowed a second time and gave a half-shrug. “I dunno,” he admitted. “He's an arrogant prick most of the time, always calling me an idiot. I'm a licensed physician, for fuck's sake; I was in the army. I'm not an idiot.”

“He never insults my mind,” Molly replied, nibbling at the corner of her lip. Without thinking, John reached up and gently wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. She blinked and smiled at him, a sad smile. “But he notices my body. He knows when I've lost weight and when I've gained it, he knows what kind of crisps I like and he knows that I'm insecure about the size of my breasts and my lips.” She gave a helpless sort of shrug. “Why does he pay attention if he doesn't want...doesn't want _me_?” she asked, the last words spoken in a near whisper. The despair on her face just about broke John's heart; without thinking, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

When the kiss ended, he turned his head so that his lips just brushed her ear as he said softly, “Because he's the idiot, Molly.”

“Yes, he is.”

John straightened up, not needing to hear Molly's gasp to know that Sherlock was standing right behind him. He was the one who'd spoken, after all.

John and Molly were both staring at him, waiting to see what he would say or do next. Did he even notice Molly's near-nudity, was he going to say something awful about their compromising position or the fact that John had just kissed her – and that she'd most definitely kissed him back?

More importantly, John thought, had he heard the two of them admitting to being in love with him?

Sherlock moved closer, not quite joining them in the doorway to the bathroom (there wasn't room for that), but certainly entering into John's personal space. He placed a hand on his flatmate's shoulder and another on Molly's, then leaned forward and kissed her just as thoroughly as John had only seconds earlier. “I was jealous, Molly,” he admitted quietly when the kiss ended with her gasping and staring at him with wide eyes. “I thought some other fool had caught your attention and I was angry that it wasn't me.” Then he turned to John and gave him an intense look the other man couldn't interpret. “And I've always criticized your many girlfriends, John, for the same reason.”

Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his friend's lips. John wasn't sure how to react at first, but then he felt Molly's gentle hand on the back of his head, caressing the nape of his neck encouragingly, and gave into the feelings he'd been trying to fight for far too long.

When the kiss ended, John flashed an uncertain look at Molly, who smiled at him, although the smile held a hint of sadness as she pulled her hand away from him. Her other hand had come to rest on Sherlock's hip, and she started to pull that away as well but the detective was having none of that, apparently; he grabbed her wrist and gave her a light tug, pulling her so that she was now standing between the two men. “Sherlock?” she asked, craning her head around and giving John just as uncertain a look as the one he'd given her. “John? Where...where do we go from here?”

Sherlock crooked his lips in one of those sexy (yes, dammit, you just let the man kiss you and you kissed him back and you're now hard as a fucking rock with a gorgeous half-dressed woman pressed up against you, so you can for fuck's sake admit he's just as sexy as she is) smiles of his and raised an eyebrow. “Well, my bedroom's certainly closer, and my bed is large enough to accommodate the three of us. Shall we?”

“A-are you sure you want me? To stay?” Molly asked, not moving, still looking worried and uncertain. “I don't, don't want to come between the two of you...”

Sherlock placed both hands on her hips and ground his pelvis against her backside in a very suggestive manner. “Oh, Molly,” he breathed, his voice gone deep and husky as he leaned down and pressed a series of delicate kisses to the side of her neck, “I think between us is exactly where we both want you to be.” He met John's gaze and grinned. “Right, John?”

Although John didn't have the ideal view of the other man's crotch, judging by the way Molly's mouth flew open and her eyes widened before Sherlock even started speaking, he was unquestionably pressing his erection against her. Which thought made John's mouth water; he wondered what Sherlock tasted like, what Molly tasted like, and couldn't wait to find out. “Right. Sherlock's bedroom it is.” Then he turned, being closest, and took Molly's hand in his, linking their fingers as he tugged her gently down the short length of the hall.

Sherlock's bedroom was sparse, almost Spartan, but his bed was queen sized, plenty of room for three people who didn't intend to allow a lot of space between them in the first place. The shade hadn't been drawn, allowing some light from outside to filter in, so John didn't bother flicking the switch. What the three of them were about to indulge in was better left in the dark, anyway.

He had no illusions; this was going to be a one-time thing, which Sherlock would no doubt delete from his mental hard drive first thing in the morning. John would go back to mindlessly shagging any woman that would have him – at least, he thought with a kind of despairing smugness, he rarely had problems finding such women – and Molly would...his mind went blank while he considered what effect a one-off like this might have on Molly. He felt his stomach churning with sudden doubt liberally laced with guilt; would she be hurt when Sherlock went back to dismissing her like he always did, unless he needed something from her? Would she even want to speak to John again once she realized this imminent intimacy was never probably never going to be repeated?

“John, stop it, you're thinking far too loudly and besides, you're wrong.”

That was Sherlock, of course; even in a darkened bedroom – he'd shut the door behind the three of them once he entered the room – he could read people too bloody well. “This isn't a one-off unless you want it to be. And if it that is what you want, then you'd better let Molly and I know right now.” He'd moved closer; John could see his silhouette as he stepped to Molly's side, heard her gasp as Sherlock put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close against him. “Because neither of us will be satisfied with that, I'm afraid. All or nothing, John. Which is it to be?”

“You think the three of us in a sexual relationship...”

“Not just sexual, John,” Sherlock cut in insistently. He reached out and grasped John's free hand in his, eyes burning with an intensity usually reserved for a tricky case. “I admit the dynamics of most interpersonal relationships tend to elude me, and that I avoid them because sentiment has always seemed to be the antithesis of reason, but I have also come to realize that I have been...missing...a great deal in my life by that avoidance. You and Molly love me – I still do not even come close to understanding why, I freely admit – and I find my life...” He paused as if groping after the right word, before finishing, “ _incomplete_. Tonight, for the first time, I know what it is I've been missing. What I need from you both. The only question is, are you willing to try?”

“I am,” Molly said softly, giving John's hand a soft squeeze and laying her head on Sherlock's shoulder with a sigh. “John, please, say you are, too.”

As if to punctuate her request, the obscene moan that was Irene Adler's ringtone on Sherlock's mobile sounded, and Molly gasped. “That wasn't me,” she spluttered, fingers tightening on John's hand in apparent panic.

“No, it was me,” Sherlock said, frowning down at whatever text message Irene had sent this time. “My phone,” he added, no doubt deducing Molly's confusion if not her anxiety.

No, John decided. Not now. Not after Sherlock had just said such amazing things to the two of them. Irene fucking Adler was just going to have to wait. John reached out, plucked the mobile out of Sherlock's hand, and shut it off. Then he flipped the phone onto the dresser, stepped in closer to the other two, and said, “Right. Let's see where this goes, then. I'm in.” Then he reached up, put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck, pulled the other man's head down and planted a firm, no-nonsense kiss on his lips.


	2. Pleasant Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut commences.

Molly wasn't entirely sure she was still awake, that she hadn't fallen and hit her head or something, because how could it possibly be real, what was happening right now in Sherlock's bedroom? She'd run off to the bathroom to try and stop her tears from falling, seen herself in the mirror and been so overcome with revulsion at the sight of herself, trying so hard to impress a man who (she'd thought) couldn't care less about her, that before she'd realized what she was doing she'd wiped off her lipstick and removed the dress, crumpling it up and tossing it to the floor.

Then John had knocked, asking if she was all right, and she'd opened the door to him, heedless of her state of undress. A state that was currently even less than it had been, since Sherlock had removed her bra and John was kneeling on the floor, sliding her knickers down to her ankles and tossing them to one side before pressing a series of damp, open-mouthed kisses to her stocking-clad thighs.

Oh, yes, this was real; no dream, no fantasy could possibly feel this good. John's tongue on her pussy, Sherlock's mouth on her neck and those long, clever fingers of his teasing her nipples...ooohhh yesssss, far, far too lovely feeling to possibly be imaginary. She moaned the words aloud as John’s tongue flicked across her clit, and she felt a gentle pressure on her thighs as he urged her to spread her legs further apart, allowing him better access. His hands moved up to cup her arse, or at least one of them did; the other seemed to be moving a bit higher, not only ghosting across her body but…

“Fuck!” she heard Sherlock spit out as John’s hand apparently cupped the other man’s cock through his trousers. Molly felt the brush of John’s knuckles across her lower back, and the knowledge that he was entering into this as wholeheartedly as she and Sherlock were was enough to bring her over the edge. She moaned more than one half-finished swearword as she felt her orgasm flowing over her.

Her knees buckled as she cried out, but Sherlock’s strong arms slipped around her waist, holding her upright as John jumped back to his feet and began stripping off his clothes with a swiftness and efficiency Molly would have admired had she had two functioning brain cells to rub together.

She was able, however, to admire the equally swift and efficient way in which Sherlock swept her up into his arms and laid her down on his bed, covering her body with his own and kissing her breathless. Then he lifted himself up, Molly keening a bit in disappointment which turned to a squeal of pleasure as John replaced Sherlock, his now-naked form pressing against hers in a very, very nice way. She groped her way down his body as he kissed her with as much passion and enthusiasm as Sherlock just had, his tongue delving into her mouth and drawing a moan from between her lips as she tasted herself on his lips. She loved it, how primal and musky it was, how fearless John was about everything tonight, and knew she couldn’t wait to feel him inside her.

She reached down between them, widening her legs as she took his lovely, thick cock into her hand, stroking it from base to tip, running her thumb over his foreskin and teasing it over the head, feeling the pooling moisture that signaled his readiness for more. “John, please,” she murmured. “I want you, please…”

He needed no further encouragement. “Condom?” he gasped out, looking blindly around the room. As if Sherlock had them stashed away in his nightstand the way most men did.

“No need, John,” Sherlock replied as he resettled himself on the bed and ghosting his palms over Molly’s breasts. “You haven’t had unprotected sex since you were a teenager, I haven’t had any sex at all since uni, Molly has been in the midst of what she would no doubt term a ‘dry spell’ for the past eighteen months, coincidentally enough the exact length of time we’ve known one another…”

She could feel his smirk and didn’t even try to resist the urge; she smacked him on the shoulder. “You git! Shut it!”

He ignored her, of course, and continued speaking, lightly pinching her nipples and nuzzling wet, open-mouthed kisses along her throat in between words. “She has a…mmm…birth control…implant…no worries there. But if you…mmmm, Molly, your throat really is quite delectable, I’m sorry I never told you that before – if you’re still concerned, John, you’ll have to…ungghgh!” He cut off his words with a strangled sound as Molly reached down and slid the palm of her hand over the head of his cock.

“Sorry,” Molly said sweetly as she continued rub the slick, wet head of his cock while he bit down on her neck and made gasping noises. “Did I interrupt?”

Part of her wondered where she’d found the courage – the balls, she thought with a giggle – to be so bold with him, but the fact that she was in bed with two men who clearly wanted her was answer enough. Well, that and the fact that for once in her life she had the upper hand where Sherlock Holmes was concerned. So to speak. 

Now, if John would just make up his mind… “John? Do you want to run upstairs? I don’t mind, really.”

“Mmm, no, John, we don’t mind,” Sherlock echoed, finally removing his mouth from Molly’s body. “Just be sure to hurry back.” His voice lowered to a deeper register, raising goosebumps along Molly’s flesh as he added, “Just don’t blame us if we keep going without you.”

Even in the darkness of the room Molly could swear she saw John’s eyes flashing with lust as he dove back onto the bed, his hand between Molly’s thighs and his lips nuzzling her throat opposite Sherlock’s mouth. He nudged the taller man over and repositioned himself on top of Molly, who moaned and writhed beneath him, loving the feel of the two of them lightly jostling for position on top of and beside her. Then John removed his fingers and positioned his cock, pushing deep inside her with a satisfied grunt that Molly echoed.

She felt no disappointment that it was John fucking her rather than Sherlock; instead, she eagerly thrust her hips up to meet the demanding rhythm he set. The fact that Sherlock was going to do the same to her, probably just as soon as John climaxed inside her, brought a gush of heat and moisture to her center, and she turned her head blindly to plant several kisses on Sherlock’s face. He raised himself up and guided her lips to his; she could feel, his leg against hers and reached down to grasp his cock in her hand, wondering distractedly if it was actually as big and thick as it seemed to be, or if it was just because her hands were relatively small.

“Nine and a half inches,” Sherlock whispered in her ear, while John nipped at the other. “And I know you can handle every inch of it, Molly. And John will, too, eventually. I’m looking forward to that just as much as I’m looking forward to fucking you.” Then he kissed her, a deep kiss, tongues tangled and mouths groping for each other. He reached up and tugged John’s head over so that he could kiss the other man as soon as he and Molly separated, and she raised her leg to wrap it around John’s pistoning hips and drive him deeper into her hot, wet core.

Sherlock slipped a hand between their joined bodies, rubbing a finger against her clit as John continued to thrust into her. She cried out as her orgasm washed over her in a sudden, overwhelming tide, one hand unconsciously squeezing Sherlock’s cock tighter and the other digging into John’s shoulder as he bit down on her neck. When she inspected herself the next morning she would discover that both men had left marks all over her body, and would glory in that sight, but for now all she did was moan and gasp and buck against John’s body until his own orgasm brought him moaning her name and swearing like the proverbial sailor as Sherlock circled his fingers around the other man’s cock and massaged his balls.

He had the courtesy to wait until John had stopped shuddering and had given Molly a tender kiss before physically pushing the other man off her body and replacing it with his own

Molly could feel his heated gaze as he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “My turn, Molly. Oh, and Merry Christmas.” Then he slowly, carefully began to push his way inside her.


	3. Holiday Bliss

Nine and a half inches, he’d said, and Molly could tell by the way he stretched her, even just after John had exited her body, that he wasn’t exaggerating. She arched her head and squeezed her eyes shut, fingers digging into Sherlock’s shoulders as he slowly, tortuously pushed his way inside her. The sound of John’s feet padding across the floor briefly caught her attention; on his way to the bathroom, she thought vaguely, then found her attention fully caught up by Sherlock’s mouth on hers, his teeth tugging at her lower lip as he kissed her, and an entire battalion could have marched through the room and she wouldn’t have noticed.

John Watson, on the other, was definitely noticing what the other two were doing as he came back into the room; his breath caught at the sight of Sherlock’s lean, pale form lying across Molly’s supple curves, the moonlight painting them both in shades of silver and alabaster striped with black and for a moment it was like watching some sort of foreign arthouse film. Then Molly gasped out Sherlock’s name, followed immediately by a moaned, “Oh fuck, God, that feels so good, God yes, fuck me harder!” and suddenly he was back to the amazing reality that his life had morphed into.

He’d been in a few threesomes in his life, but they had all involved him and two women. This was such incredibly new territory for him that he found himself standing at the foot of the bed, not quite sure what the protocol was – if, in fact, there was such a thing in the first place! Should he just stay here and watch (getting hard again as he did so), should he join in…

“For God’s sake, John, just climb back in bed and do what you like,” Sherlock growled, looking over his shoulder, his hips still moving steadily against Molly’s body. She gasped and craned her neck to look as well, smiling sweetly and raising one hand to gesture him forward.

Shrugging off his momentary uncertainty, John clambered onto the bed, leaning down to press a warm kiss to Molly’s lips before Sherlock once again captured them with his own. Seeing the two of them so enthusiastically going at it was doing amazing things to John’s recovery time; by the time he got comfortable on the bed, his cock was fully hard again.

He rested his head on the pillow next to Molly, so that all she had to do was turn if she wanted to kiss him, and carefully began running his free hand up and down Sherlock’s body, shoulder to perfectly sculpted arse, making sure to give Molly a bit of a pinch behind her knee as he did so. She squeaked and arched beneath Sherlock, who let loose with another fusillade of curse words as the change in position apparently met with his enthusiastic approval.

John continued to touch Molly and Sherlock and random points, reaching between them to tweak her nipples, sliding his palm over her belly and down to her hot, wet sex. He dipped one finger into her cleft, feeling the swollen bud of her clit, shivering a bit at the combined sensation of Molly’s slippery flesh and Sherlock’s cock against his hand.

He pulled his hand away when Sherlock abruptly rolled over, pulling Molly along with him. Once he was flat on his back, he tugged Molly up so that she was sitting directly over his face, leaving his wet, hard cock bobbing above his stomach. John’s mouth went a bit dry at the obvious invitation he’d just been issued, and without allowing himself to think about what he was about to do, he knelt between Sherlock’s legs, bent his head, and took all nine-and-a-half glorious inches into his mouth and throat.

The fact that Molly’s juices were liberally coating the consulting detective’s prick was all to the good as far as John was concerned; he’d always loved the taste of pussy, and judging by the enthusiasm with which Sherlock was currently tongue-fucking Molly, he wasn’t quite as inexperienced when it came to women as John and so many others had always assumed.

And judging by the gasps and moans Molly was making, he wasn’t half bad at it, either. He pulled his mouth away from Sherlock’s cock and gave Molly a sloppy kiss; her face was right there as she knelt over Sherlock’s body, close enough to take his cock into her mouth if she wanted to, and John shivered at the thought of the two of them getting Sherlock off at the same time. He broke off the kiss and put his hand at the back of Molly’s head, tugging lightly to indicate what he was suggesting, and was rewarded by a wide, not to mention somewhat wicked smile as she leaned down and took the head of Sherlock’s cock into her mouth.

John eased himself down a bit, then put his hands under Sherlock’s buttocks and mouthed his balls the way an ex-girlfriend used to do for him, which had never failed to excite him. He grinned as he heard a muffled ‘Fuck’ from the other end of the bed, and a soft giggle from Molly that quickly turned into a gasp as Sherlock apparently did something extremely naughty to her pussy.

Molly’s breath started coming in short, sharp pants, and her mouth slipped away from Sherlock’s prick as she felt the telltale signs of orgasm rippling through her cunt and abdomen. Watching John take her place, lowering his mouth over the head of Sherlock’s cock while at the same time feeling Sherlock’s own mouth and fingers on her pussy was all she needed to tip her over the edge. She turned her head to the side and let out a wail of pleasure, then collapsed on her side and rolled onto her back, still panting as the aftershocks shuddered through her body.

She was so lost in her own pleasure that it took her a moment to realize the Sherlock and John had once again repositioned themselves; now they were face to face, sharing deep kisses and stroking one another’s cocks. Molly rose up to her knees to watch with an avid hunger; she’d never been with two men, never even fantasized about it, and was fascinated and incredibly turned on by the sight, even in the aftermath of her second orgasm of the evening. 

However, watching was apparently not going to happen; as soon as Sherlock noted her change in position, he nudged John and nodded at her. “You don’t mind if I finish fucking our Molly into the mattress, do you John?” he asked, his voice deeper than usual. “It would be rather rude of me not to finish what I started.”

“Be my guest,” John gasped out, releasing Sherlock’s prick and grasping his own, steadily stroking it as Sherlock pulled Molly onto his reclining form. She quickly lowered herself onto his cock, although not without an apologetic glance at John, who merely grinned at her, leaning up in order to plant a sloppy kiss on her lips as she allowed Sherlock’s thickness to fill her once again.

Molly didn’t expect to come, not after having done so twice already, but then John stroked his finger against her clit and the unexpected pressure was all it took to send her crashing through her third orgasm of the night. Sherlock continued pumping steadily into her, his hands on her hips as she rested her forehead on his shoulder, and then she felt John’s hands on her arse, gliding along the cleft and the waning orgasm crested again. She screamed at the sensation, having never felt anything like it in her life, clenching tightly around Sherlock’s cock until she felt him joining her, his warm cum gushing into her as he gave out a strangled gasp of pleasure.

Later she would discover that John had pressed the tip of a finger against Sherlock’s puckered hole, coaxing both his lovers into coming at roughly the same time. 

But that was later. For now, the three of them collapsed into a sweaty, tangled heap of limbs and torsos, murmuring endearments – yes, Sherlock as well – before they fell into a contented sleep.

It was, after all the heartache and drama, the best Christmas any of them could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Hope you enjoyed this smutty bit of nonsense!


End file.
